FateMirror Paradox
by QuillianX
Summary: A whole new grail war with new servants and new master. Fate/Mirror Paradox is an all original story set in the world of the Fate/ series. This story was designed to allow even people who aren't longtime Fate/ fans to be able to understand and enjoy, so don't be intimidated by the large amount of preexisting lore, though a familiarity with Fate/SN and Fate/Zero is recommended.
1. Episode 1: Awaken the Heroes

**Episode 1: Awaken the Heroes**

* * *

7 years

A young man walked through the park. His hair reflected red and gold in the sunlight, his heavy backpack caused him to slouch, his hands hidden in the pockets of his khakis, and his red, collared shirt completed the school uniform. Young children played on the swings, or at the playground; some sat at one of the park benches, playing some trading card game. They were elementary school kids, those too young to have any real work after school. "Cherish it while you can, kids," he muttered to himself, "homework is murder." As he walked by, some kids from his school, juniors he had never met, walked in. They walked up to the bench where the kids were playing their game.

Out of nowhere, one of the teenagers swiped a card right out of one of the kid's hand. "Hey!" cried the kid, "give that back!"

"Oh," teased the junior, "and why should I you little brat?"

"Because it's my favorite card!" the kid cried out, looking close to tears, "it's the best I own."

"Well then," the junior teased, "that's exactly why I want it."

"Give it back!" the kid cried, reaching for the card. The junior just swatted him away, knocking him off the bench, onto his butt, where the kid really did start crying. The young man couldn't take it anymore. He dropped his backpack on the ground and walked over to the bench.

"Give the kid back his card," he ordered, "Now." The junior turned around to see who dared challenge him and noticed the young man, blue eyes without even a hint of fear.

"Oh really?" scoffed the Junior, "make m-." His taunt was interrupted by a satisfying crack as the young man's fist connected with his jaw.

The junior's friends grabbed the young man's arms, attempting to hold him until their friend could get up and punch him in return, but, the young man raised his left leg sharply, slamming his heel into one of their ballsacks. That one immediately let go and fell to the floor, holding his crotch. The young man then used his now free arm to punch the other junior in the solar plexus. The first junior had recovered from the shock of getting punched, and got up, attempting to attack the young man, but he was swiftly backhanded in the face. Reaching over to where the first junior lay, the young man picked the card off the ground and offered it to the kid. "I believe this is yours."

The kid gratefully accepted the card. "Thank you," the kid smiled, wiping tears from his eyes. Then, the kid zipped open his backpack, rustled around in it for a bit, and pulled out a card. "Here you go," he said, offering it to the young man.

"No, kid, it's fine," the young man responded, waving him off, "I don't need a reward."

"It's not a reward," the kid said, "it's a thank you." Unable to dissuade the kid, the young man took the card. The back said "World of Legends" on it; a game he had heard his friends talking about, and he was pretty sure it had an anime too. On the front of the card, was a picture of an ornate summoning circle, with an armored figure holding a glowing sword, though he couldn't tell if it was male or female. The card was called "Calling for a Champion" and the effect text read, "Special summon one level 8 or higher hero from your deck or extra-deck, ignoring summoning conditions." He didn't play the game, but that sounded pretty good. He put the card in his pocket, thanked the kid for his card, rustling his hair a bit, picked up his backpack, and walked off.

As he walked off, the first junior croaked out "what's your name, punk?" "Loki McKay," the young man said, "and don't forget it." "Well fuck you McKay," cursed the Junior. "Screw you too," Loki replied, as he walked away.

* * *

6 years

A dark-haired man stood by the window, looking out on the skyline of London. His white dress shirt hung untucked over black pants. Another man walked up to him. "It's good to be back," the man said, with a heavy Irish accent, "ain't it Vic?"

"I don't know Terry," Vic countered, his own British accent just as heavy, "I've always felt more comfortable on the field of battle than anywhere else."

"Well you're a regular Kilgore," Terry joked, "but come on, you fought, now it's time to play. Me and the boys are heading out for a pint of Guinness, wanna come?"

"Sure," Vic answered, "I could go for a round."

"Try not to get in a bar fight," laughed Terry, as they stepped into a lift.

Vic walked into the bar with Terry and a couple of other former soldiers. They sat down at the counter and ordered. After an hour and a half, everyone was already on their fifth drink. "Come on," slurred a heavily drunk Terry, "say it."

"Fine," responded Vic, "I love the smell of napalm in the morning."

"Yes!" cheered Terry, "you're like a British Kilgore Vic!"

"Great. Now," Vic prodded, "how about your side of the deal?"

"Fine, fine, a deal's a deal," Terry agreed, waving the bartender over. "Bartender," he said, gesturing to Vic, "this man's next drink is on me!" The bartender nodded while Vic continued to nurse his drink.

Over at the other side of the bar, a woman started screaming. Vic looked over to see a young brunette, with some drunk off his ass creep holding onto her breast. "Get off me you pervert!" she screamed, smacking the creep.

"Oh come on lovey," the creep slurred, "what's so wrong, I'm just appreciating a masterpiece." Vic stood up, tucked the barstool back under the counter, calmly walked over to where the creep was, and socked him in the nose.

"Look," Vic added, "don't touch." That was when things got fun. One of the creeps' friends got up to attack Vic, and Terry jumped up and hit him hard in the chin. Before he knew it, Vic was in the middle of a full-on bar fight. "Hell Yes!" Vic cheered, dodging a punch and slamming the nearest bloke in the face with an ashtray.

At this point, he didn't care too much who it was he was hitting, as long as it wasn't Terry or another of the boys. Anyone who wasn't on his side was fair game. He shoved someone and they fell down, tripping over some drunk on the floor and landing on their ass. He saw a mug fly by his head and heard glass shatter as it hit the ground. Suddenly, someone shouted over the whole brawl. Enough people heard that the brawl quieted down. People turned to see the bartender standing on top of the bar. "You lot stop your damn fight," he ordered, "or I'll get the police in here, got it?!"

After that, everyone calmed down. He was probably bluffing - no bartender wanted the police at his establishment - but no one wanted to take the chance of spending a night in the clink. Vic, Terry, and the others sat back down on their bar stools and ordered another drink, Vic enjoying a nice top shelf whiskey paid for with Terry's pounds. Towards the end of the night, the creep from earlier stumbled up to them. His red face and obvious stumbles betrayed the force behind his sudden bravery.

"'Ey you, twat," he spat at Vic, his breath absolutely reeking of alcohol, "who are ya, and what gives ya the right t' interrupt me private affairs?" He threw an incredibly telegraphed punch, which Vic caught one-handed, without even letting go of his drink. He finished the glass, stood up, and looked straight into the creeps eyes, crushing his fist the whole time.

"That's sir to you," he sneered, "and as for who I am, I'm Brigadier Victor Wayne, of the army branch of Her Majesty's Armed Forces." The creep let out an audible gulp.

"Sorry," he whimpered, earning him a harsh glare from Vic. "Sorry sir," he whimpered again.

"Much better," answered Vic letting go of the creep's hand, which the creep quickly uncurled and began rubbing. He waved the creep away, and sat back down, ordering another drink.

* * *

5 years

The girl sat down at her desk, a heavy tome in front of her. She stared down at it, her eyes cold and empty. The pages were covered with Hebrew letters, describing powerful enchantments, summoning rituals, spells, and curses. She had to learn it all; her master told her to, and the punishment for disobedience was harsh. Her hands trembled at the thought, and she could feel squirming underneath her skin. She went back to reading. Suddenly, the book closed in front of her. She turned around to see a young man with mischievous dark blue eyes, an equally mischievous smile, and curly blue hair that went down to the nape of his neck. He looked down at her, his finger to his lips. The girl's eyes stopped being so empty and cold.

The young man silently closed the window he had entered through and slinked over to the door. He put his ear to it and waited. After a bit, he began running his finger on the door, and a faint light the same color as his hair traced the lines he drew. Once he was done, the drawing - a blue magic circle - flew into the air and began spinning. Four lines shot from it, hitting the corners of the room, and light blue energy filled in walls between them, forming a glowing blue pyramid. Once the pyramid was secure, the young man smiled and walked back over to the desk. "Hi Mary," he smiled, "figured you'd need a distraction."

"But what about-" Mary started.

"Don't worry," the young man interrupted. He gestured to the pyramid, "All sound is blocked from exiting this zone. Remember, utility magic is awesome."

"So…" the young man asked, "got another story for me, Mary?"

"Sorry," she frowned, "with all the work the master has been giving me, I haven't had the time to come up with a new one."

"Oh, it's fine," he smiled, "just start thinking, your stories are all good." Mary blushed.

"O-ok then," she stuttered, "once upon a time, there was a beautiful girl, from a very poor family."

"Describe her," the young man requested, grabbing a bag and notepad from under Mary's desk.

"She had big violet eyes," she began, "she was short, with slight features, and pale skin, and short pink hair." The young man snorted. "What?!" Mary asked him, accusingly.

"Pink hair?" he asked.

"You're one to talk, your hair looks like blue seaweed."

"Fine," he surrendered, "carry on then."

"As I was saying," Mary continued, "she had short pink hair, that came down to the nape of her neck."

"How about clothes?" the young man asked.

"As I said, she was very poor," Mary continued, "she would work in her brother's old clothes, dirty white shirts that were much too big for her, but she never complained, and she loved the color white."

"Anything else?" the young man asked again."

"She only had one dress," Mary stated, "a once beautiful black dress, that was much too small on her, as it was the dress she wore to her parents' funerals."

"What's with you and orphans?" the young man asked, "I've yet to hear one story from you where both parents survive until the end, and many of them start with them dead."

"Quiet," Mary swatted him, "do you want a story or not?"

"Actually, you can take a pause to think up some more details," he said. "Check this out." He held up a paper he had been sketching on, showing her the picture he had been drawing. On his paper was a beautiful drawing of the girl from her story: her short hair was unevenly cut, her pink eyes were innocent, and the oversized white shirt hung from her body like a dress. There was only one issue.

"She's a bit more… um…" Mary began, embarrassed by what she wanted to say.

"Her breasts are too big?" the young man questioned, completely unabashedly.

"Yes," Mary said blushing.

"You said she was beautiful," he explained, "I just based it off what most guys would think."

Mary was about to complain when the door burst open. Standing in the doorway, was an imposing man, dark blue eyes full of malice. His curly blue hair seemed like sharp brambles, while the few strands that hung down on his face resembled the tentacles of some eldritch beast. The young man immediately dropped his art supplies and ran in front of Mary, his blue eyes blazing with equal malice as the man's own. Mary only felt cold and scared, her eyes becoming empty once more, and she crouched to the ground. "I'm sorry m-master," she begged submissively.

"I distracted her!" yelled the young man "punish me!"

"Shut up you pathetic whelp!" the man roared, backhanding the young man hard across the face, "did I ask you to speak!?"

"I don't need your permission you walking, talking squirm!" the young man yelled at the man. The man grabbed him by his neck and lifted him into the air.

"Don't you dare speak to me like that you larva!" the man hissed.

"Fuck you..." the boy gasped, "...father." The malice in the man's eyes grew even stronger, and he dropped the young man.

"Very well then," he said, as he kicked the young man in the rib. "You want punishment?" he asked him, "here is your punishment." And that was when the screaming began.

* * *

3 years

The young lady lay upside down, on her couch, reading a book. Her head rested on the floor, her partially black ponytail spread out on the ground, the hairs dyed pink about a third of the way down, and they darkened to purple as they reached the tip. Some hairs got underneath the couch, some wrapped around the sides of her head, but all were carefully brushed out of her eyes. There was a knock on the door. "Who is it?" the young lady asked.

"It's me, Eli," called out a man's voice from behind the door. "Open up."

"You could say 'please' August," the young lady called back.

"Seriously," sighed the man, "fine, please open the door for me, Eliza."

"Anything for my dear big brother," Eliza teased, walking over to the door and unlocking it, "especially when he's being so polite."

"Haha," August deadpanned, "you may recall I'm letting you stay in my apartment."

"Yes, but you may recall that this room was mine and you wouldn't come in without asking," Eliza argued back, "and mom always said…"

"'It's not a proper request unless you say 'please'" August sighed, "I know, I heard that from her more than you did."

"Anyway," Eliza asked, "what do you want?"

"I left my guitar in here," August responded, walking over to the corner of the room, "and I was going to practice."

"Good," Eliza responded, "then get your guitar and get out, I was busy." "Busy, sure," August commented disbelievingly, searching for his guitar, then something else caught his eye. "Oh, what's this?" He asked, reaching over to grab the book Eliza had left on the floor when she went to let him in.

"Hey!" Eliza called, "that's mine!"

"It is?" August asked, in mock surprise, "well then, let's see what it is. End of the Summer," he read off the book's cover, then opened it up to the inside cover "'When Alice said goodbye to Joshua on the last day of junior high, she thought that was the end, her crush would never know how she felt about him. She decided to soldier on and live her life, she'd get over eventually. Six years later, Alice still hasn't gotten over Joshua, but she may get a second chance when a surprising chain of events results in the two reuniting. Will this miracle lead to the romance she's been dreaming of, or just another heartbreak?'" Eliza covered her face in shame.

"Really sis?" August asked, his voice filled with mock pity, "I thought trashy romance novels were beneath you?"

"Shut up" she groaned from behind her hands.

"Hold on," August realized, "this plot sounds familiar."

"Shut up shut up shut up," Eliza continued.

"Seriously?" August asked, "you're still not over that guy?" Eliza let out an unintelligible groan, walked over to the couch, and fell on it, burying her face in a pillow. "Lizzie," August said, slightly concerned, "it's been three years."

"I've moved on," she said, her voice muffled from behind the pillow, "I'm allowed to have wishful thinking for what could have been, can't I?"

"Yeah, you can," August told her cautiously, "just don't get caught up in the past, ok?"

"I promise," Eliza said, taking her face out of the pillow.

"Good," August smiled, rubbing her head, which caused dust to come out, "hey, your hair's all dusty."

"Sorry," Eliza said, "I had my head on the ground while I was reading."

"Come on," August groaned, "at least clean up the ground before you do that."

"Ok, ok, sorry," Eliza apologized, "help me get it out."

"So," Eliza asked, as August sat down to start combing the dust from her hair, "how was work today?"

"Good," he responded, "a pretty normal day, keeping rabid fans away from some musician I've never listened to a single song from, get paid, and repeat again sometime tonight."

"I guess that's just what it's like," she responded, "being a bodyguard."

"Yeah, I used to find the things people did for the stars were weird," he laughed, "now, I think women flashing their boobs and guys asking to get signed on their… anyway, now it seems normal. The former is still a good show for me though."

Eliza gave him a playful slap. "Don't be such a pervert, August," she chided.

"Hey," August jokingly argued back, "they're doing it of their own volition, I just enjoy it."

"That still makes you a pervert," Eliza teased."

"Does not."

"Does too."

"Does not."

"Does too."

They both started laughing. "You're still a pervert," Eliza teased.

"I'm a guy, sis," August responded, "comes with the territory."

"Not all guys are perverts," she argued.

"Oh right," he joked, "your crush was a chivalrous knight in shining armor, he'd never give in to his primitive urges."

"Haha," she snarked, punching him in the arm playfully, "shut up about my crush already."

"Fine," August put his hands up in mock surrender, "if you insist."

"Well then," said August, getting up and grabbing his guitar, "I've got to go practice then, I want to get some in before I get called back."

"Ok then," Eliza responded."This time, play some music that isn't from fifty years ago."

"Bon Jovi isn't from fifty years ago," August argued, all the while walking towards the door, "only thirty."

"Last time you played Billy Joel," Eliza countered.

"Fine, I'll play Nirvana." August countered, shutting the door behind him.

"Try something from the twenty-first century!" Eliza called to him through the closed door.

"Never!" August called back, causing Eliza to fall down laughing.

"Dork," she snorted, smiling.

* * *

2 years

The little girl sat on her bed, crying. A soft knock came from outside. "Honey?" came a man's soft and questioning voice, "can I come in?" The girl didn't respond, she just kept crying. The door opened up quietly, and in stepped a man with light brown, almost blond, hair, with black rimmed glasses, wearing a plain white colored shirt and khaki pants. He sat down on the bed next to the girl and put his arm over her shoulder. "Hey," he said soothingly, "it's ok little one, everything is going to be ok."

"But you and mommy were fighting!" the girl cried, "are you gonna get divorced?"

"I'd ask how you know what divorce is, but I'd guess you've been reading my books, haven't you?" the man asked, and his daughter nodded, "don't worry, your mother and I aren't getting divorced, all couples fight."

"But mommy sounds really really angry," the girl argued, "and she hit you." "Yes, she did," the man, rubbing his still red cheek, "I guess I deserved it."

"No you didn't!" the girl screamed emphatically, "you were trying to apologize and she hit you! She's bad, not you!"

The man sighed and got up. "Come on," he said, motioning to his daughter to get up.

"Where are we going?" she asked.

"To my lab," he responded, "I have a new reaction to show you." This cheered the girl up, she always loved to see her father do science, he wouldn't tell her what he was working on, but he did his best to entertain her with what he could. "Now," He told her, "we have to be really quiet, your mother is still out there." The girl nodded, and her father quietly opened the door. The two slid out on their tiptoes, neither one making a sound. As they passed the family room, they saw a woman with dark brown hair sitting on the couch, watching some hospital drama on the television. The man put his fingers to his lips, a reminder to his daughter to stay quiet, as they moved over to the stairs. Without a noise, they climbed down to the basement.

Once they were inside the basement lab, the girl walked over to the shelf and grabbed two pairs of goggles, one normal sized and entirely made of clear plastic, and the other child-sized, with colorful sides. She walked back over to her father and handed him the larger pair, and chirped "safety first."

"That's my girl," the man said, patting his daughter's head and smiling proudly. He grabbed two aprons from a nearby rack, one normal sized and white, and the other tie-dye and child-sized. He tied the first on himself, then got on one knee to tie the other one around his daughter's waist. "Now then," he said, "head over to the fume hood. I'll join you in a moment." The little girl moved over to the fume hood, her pigtails bobbing up and down as she bounced excitedly. After about half a minute, her father came over, holding a lighter and something that looked like a big, colorful candle holder. "Ok then," he said, after setting the thing in the fume hood, "now honey, can you tell me the colors of the rainbow? In order."

"Red, Orange, Yellow," the girl sang, "Green, Blue, Purple. Why?"

"Oh," her father smiled while rubbing her head, "I just wanted to make sure these were all in proper order. Look." He picked her up so she could see that each of the glass candle holders were one of the rainbow colors, with each containing something. The red one was full of white powder, the orange one had a grainy white substance, the yellow one had stuff that looked like salt, the green one had a blue powder, the blue one had a clear liquid, and the purple one had something that looked like sugar.

"Now then," he began, flicking the lighter on and turning on the fume hood, "why don't I show you the reaction I promised you." He held the lighter over the red candle holder, and the powder inside it burst into red fire. "Lithium," he said, before moving on. "Calcium chloride, sodium chloride, copper sulfate," he continued, lighting the orange, yellow and green holders, each one bursting into fires of the same color, "rubbing alcohol, and potassium chloride." Once he was done, rainbow-colored fires burned in all the holders. The girl stared at the beautiful dancing colors, suspended in the air safely in her father's embrace. She loved moments like this, just the two of them, sharing something her father thought she would like, and that she always loved. During moments like this, she could forget her parent's fights, ignore her mommy's yelling at her daddy, it was just her, daddy, and whatever new reaction he wanted her to see. She wished it could always be like this. For a long time, the two simply watched the multicolored flames. The girl couldn't really remember the chemicals her father told her made the fire change colors, but she could ask him again, her daddy just loved talking about science.

Eventually, the fires burned out, and when the last colorful embers faded, her father put her down. He untied his own apron and helped her untie hers. Wordlessly, they put the aprons back on the rack, and the safety goggles back on the shelf. He took her hand, and they climbed back up the stairs. The lights and television were off and the family room was empty. The two walked over to the girl's room and walked in. "Now," her father said, "you should change into your pajamas."

"Yup," the girl said, nodding and walking over to her drawer, "no peeking." Her daddy began laughing at that, she liked his laugh, it was quiet, and mommy always said it was fake, but she knew it was real.

"Don't worry honey," her father laughed, "I'm a gentleman, I would never peek." The girl changed into her pajamas and climbed onto her bed. "Do you want me to tuck you in?" her father asked her.

"Yes," she responded.

"Yes what?" her father asked.

"Yes please," she pouted.

"I'd be happy to," he replied as she crawled into bed. He grabbed the blanket and carefully tucked it up to her chin. "Good night my dear," he whispered to her as he kissed her on the forehead.

As he walked away, the girl had one last thing to say. "Daddy?" she asked.

"Yes honey?" he responded.

"If you and mommy get divorced," she began, "I want to go with you." While she couldn't see it in the dark, her father's face took on a worried look, but he quickly put on a brave face.

"We're not getting divorced, Jann," he replied, "but if anything happens, I guarantee you and I will stick together."

* * *

1 year

"... ladies and Gentlemen of the jury, we the defense ask for the only proper verdict, of not guilty," Loki finished up his closer, and sat back down.

"Very well then," said the judge, "if this were a real trial, we'd let the jury deliberate, but for expediency's sake, what's the verdict."

"Not guilty your honor," replied the head juror.

"Very well then," the judge said, "class is dismissed." All the students got up, their mock trial completed, and began to file out, heading to get lunch or head back to their dorms.

"Congrats McKay," said the head prosecution lawyer, as he walked over to Loki, "you just gave an impassioned argument that allowed a man both you and I know was guilty of murder to walk away free."

"Congratulations to you too, Scott," Loki stated, "you just gave a basic description of the job of a defense attorney."

"Oh please, you know what I mean," Scott continued, "you're scary good at keeping your morals out of work."

"That's likely going to be my job in two years." Loki replied, "I'd rather hope I'm good at it."

"Fine fine," replied Scott, "come on, let's go get some Greek."

Loki ate his salad silently while reading from a treasury of myths. "You know," said Scott, "when I asked to get lunch with you, I intended for us to talk while eating."

"We are talking," Loki replied without looking up.

"No," replied Scott, "I'm saying stuff, you're responding, and then going back to your book."

"That doesn't mean we're not talking," Loki corrected, "we're talking right now." Scott fixed him with an annoyed look.

"Loki," Scott questioned, "what's your roommate's name?"

"Robert," Loki replied. "No," Scott corrected, "his name is Matt."

"Oh, yes, right," Loki replied, "thank you."

"Loki, this is a problem," Scott said, concerned, "I'm probably your only friend, and only because I go out of my way to spend time with you."

"I have other friends," Loki replied, "I chat with the people in my classes."

"You have acquaintances," Scott corrected, "friends are people you spend time with when you aren't required to."

"Technically I'm not required to spend time with them…" Loki began, before Scott interrupted him.

"Loki!" Scott interjected, "I'm not going to argue semantics with you!"

"Well, we're both lawyers," Loki replied, "isn't arguing semantics part of our job."

"Damn it Loki!" Scott cried, startling the people at the table next to them, "this isn't time for debate, this is time for you to start understanding that you have an issue, and need to work on it!"

"Fine," Loki replied, placing a bookmark in his book and closing it, placing it down neatly on the table.

"Ok, so," Scott said, "let's try to have a conversation, didn't you read that book already"

"Well firstly, who never re-reads a book?" Loki replied, "and secondly, it's the new edition, this one includes Arthurian legend, further Irish and Sumerian Myths, and some Grimm fairy tales."

"Really," Scott asked, "anything interesting?"

"Well, Arthur once knighted his jester, who by the way was gifted with the amazing name Dagonet, and he basically just screwed with everyone."

"Anything else?" Scott continued.

"Well, did you know that in the original Arthurian myths, Bedivere was Arthur's strongest knight, and he lacked an arm."

"Who's Bedivere?" asked Scott, "and what about Lancelot?"

"Lancelot was added to the stories later," Loki responded, "and Bedivere was the knight who is currently best known for returning Excalibur to the lady of the lake."

"Any other random trivia?" Scott asked.

"Well," Loki continued, "Galahad is apparently descended from David and Solomon."

"Wouldn't that make Lancelot Jewish?" Scott asked.

"It may have been on his mom's side," Loki responded, "which would make Galahad Jewish."

"So you are telling me," Scott asked, "that the knight who had a holy orgasm and ascended to heaven, may have been unknowingly Jewish the whole time?"

"Well, Judaism is more of a school of thought than just a birthright," Loki explained, "so if Galahad was raised as a Christian, and thought he was a Christian, then he was a Christian, just with Jewish blood."

"So, sort of like the opposite of you," Scott replied, "a Jew with Christian blood."

"Of course," joked Loki, "with all our treachery and lies, it's no wonder the opposite of an honorable knight is a lawyer." They both laughed for a bit at that, after all, what lawyer didn't enjoy a good lawyer joke.

"So, how did you know about the…" Loki searched for his words "I don't think 'holy orgasm' is an entirely apt description."

"Though, I'm sticking with it," Scott mock argued, "and I knew about it because you told me last time we had a conversation about this."

"I suppose we do discuss mythology a lot…" Loki began.

"Well," Scott replied, "I can't really talk to you about sports, now can I, Mr. 'Who's this Carson Wentz guy I've been hearing about.'"

"I knew who Tom Brady was," Loki defended, "and how many points a touchdown is."

"How many is it?" Scott quizzed him.

"Six points for the touchdown and one extra if you make the resulting bonus kick."

"Good job," Scott said, "now how many points is a slam dunk?" Loki held up two fingers in a V while taking a drink of his soda.

"Good job!" Scott congratulated him, "honestly didn't think you'd know that."

Loki looked surprised for a moment, before hastily saying, "well, I'm full of surprises."

"Yeah, and here's the biggest one," Scott said, "when people actually get to know you, you can be pleasant and charming."

"People think I'm pleasant," Loki argued.

"Most of the time," Scott replied, "reading when someone is talking to you is decidedly not pleasant, but anyway, nobody thinks you're charming. You're a handsome guy, and you're nice, but there's a reason you're twenty-three and have never had a girlfriend."

"Ok then," Loki responded, cleaning up the table as they had finished their meal, "what do you intend to do to help me with that."

"Hmmm…" Scott wondered, "you can dance, right?" "I've been told I'm rather good," Loki replied.

"Good," Scott replied, "find a dress shirt and some black pants, we're going clubbing."

* * *

 **Let the war begin**

* * *

Kushiro, Japan

The man sat on a log, holding his hands over the fire he had made. He probably looked like a homeless bum, long hair, stubble, but he wasn't. He had an apartment, and a job, but he'd freely admit both were pretty crappy, and he only really slept in the apartment, tending to avoid it while he was awake. There was a reason for that, though. He was a free spirit, not one to stay in one place, he lived on only what was in his backpack. He pulled out a burger from the fast food bag by his side. Halfway around the world, and you could still find a burger and fries. He bit into it, the wrapper over his lap to keep the grease from messing up his jeans. Once he had finished the burger, he pulled out his fries and started munching on them, taking a drink from his soda to counter the saltiness. When he was done, he wiped the grease onto the hamburger wrapper and tossed it into the fire, along with the rest of the now empty bag. Best thing about campfires, free trash disposal. Then the winds picked up. He pulled his jacket close around him to block out the chill, and he saw his campfire wave in the wind. Unexpectedly, the fire started blazing higher. He backed away, worried, and he heard a strange sound in the wind. It sounded like… bells.

All of the sudden, a bright green glow filled the air. He looked over to see a green glowing magic circle on the ground, right under his feet. It blazed, shining brighter and brighter, just like the fire, until it let out a blinding flash. When he could see again, the man noticed that the area had filled with fog, with a figure standing in the center of it. As the fog cleared, he could see the figure more clearly. He was a young man, with grey hair, and a gold collar around his neck. He wore a grey vest, a red cloak, a white sash, and black pants. His feet were covered with black sandals. "Who the hell are you?" the man asked the newcomer.

"Shalom," said the young man, his voice kind and even-tempered, "I am Lancer."

"Lancer?" the man asked "the fuck?."

"Well, I thought I should have been Caster," the young man said, "but I've learned my lesson about not questioning powers far beyond my own."

"I'm sorry, maybe you didn't hear me," the man responded "the fuck?"

"Oh right," the young man realized, "we're all getting people from out of the fold this time. Not to worry, this isn't my first time being a shepherd. By the way, you may want to look at your hand."

"My… hand?" the man responded, before taking a look. "What the...?" he questioned, upon seeing that his previously unmarked hand, now had a symbol on it. It displayed a winged serpent.

"May I ask?" the young man questioned, "what is your name?

"Ross," the man responded, too stunned to question why the young man would want to know his name, "Ross Vanderville."

"Well then Ross," the young man responded, "I believe it's time I teach you some things."

* * *

London, England

Vic was jumping around in his room, gaming controller pointed at the screen as he shot imaginary enemy soldiers. He had gotten a mold to make the controller into a mock Lee-Enfield rifle, just to have the familiar feeling of a proper weapon in his hands. "Die Nazi Scum!" he roared, as he mowed down digital German soldiers. These games may not be all that realistic, but they gave him a rush he'd been lacking in civilian life. "HAHAHA!" he cheered, "Die! Die!" Was he being way too loud? Yes! Did he care? No! It was a legal way to get that rush he'd always gotten in combat. "Yes!" He cheered, as he beat the level and set down the controller. He collapsed on the couch, smiling from his latest victory. Still, the feeling was hollow, he wasn't fighting for anything. If he died, he would just reload. No one was really counting on him. He wished, not for the first time, that he could experience real combat, once more. Suddenly, a red light emanated from his hand, and from the area behind him. He watched transfixed, as a symbol appeared on his hand. It was a shield, divided in two by a sword that ran, from hilt to point, straight down the middle.

As soon as it was done, he ran over to his nearby gun rack and grabbed a Barrett. He pointed it at the red glow, where he saw some kind of magic circle. In a burst of light, a figure appeared, accompanied by a burst of fog. It was a tall man, wearing shiny armor that looked halfway between something medieval and a modern soldier's uniform, and reflected a flickering light, like a non-existent fire. Underneath was red cloth clothing, and pale skin. His dark hair was uniform and clean. A broadsword hung from his belt, and bow and a quiver of arrows hung from around his neck, and a bagpipe slung under his arm. "Put your hands up!" Victor shouted at the armored man, "I don't know who the bloody fuck and don't really care, but you're in my bloody apartment, so I've got the right to blast your brains out, and damn does my trigger finger itch." The man looked at Vic, his dark eyes questioning.

"You meet me with a gun and a threat…" the man began. Suddenly, his dark eyes blazed with a fire Vic had often seen in his own reflection. "I like you!" the man roared, "I am Archer, and I vow to serve you! State your name master, and the contract will be sealed." Vic was about to ask the crazy git what the fuck he was talking about when the Barrett in his hand glowed the same red, and he felt something pulse through him.

"I am Brigadier Victor Wayne, of the army branch of Her Majesty's Armed Forces," he stated, "and I accept this contract."

"Then there shall be a glorious battle!" roared Archer.

* * *

Fuyuki, Japan

A dark-eyed man stood behind an empty-eyed girl in front of a summoning circle drawn in blood. The man's right shoe was crusted with blood, along with a good portion of his right pant leg. He ignored pained sounds and the harsh sound of metal on bone coming from the basement, where blue light was already fading, and squeezed the girl's shoulder, a bit harder than needed. The girl barely flinched. "Now my dear," the man began, "begin the summoning." The girl held her right hand out, with its back showing a red symbol, three circles arranged in a triangle, as a glowing green liquid dripped from it into the circle. She began speaking in a monotone voice.

"For the elements silver and iron, the foundation stone and the archduke of pacts," she droned "and for my great master Schweinorg." The circle began to glow the same color as the liquid dripping from her hand, and the man's face split into something that could barely be called a smile. "Close the four gates, come forth from the crown" she continued, "and follow the forked road leading to the kingdom." "Fill, fill, fill, fill, fill," she chanted, each time, a droplet of liquid hit the circle, and it glowed brighter. "Repeat five times, but when each is filled, destroy it. Set," as she spoke the words, the circle changed from green to a light shade of purple.

"What?" growled the man, "it's supposed to turn red."

As if she hadn't heard him, the girl continued. "Heed my words, my will creates your body, and your sword creates my destiny," she droned on, "if you heed the Grail's call, and obey my will and reason, then answer my summoning." "I hereby swear, that I shall be all the good in the world," at that line, the man let out a cruel, humorless laugh, he'd make certain that turned out to be a lie. "That I shall defeat all evil in the world," the girl continued, "seventh heaven clad, and the great words of power." "Come forth from the circle of bindings, Guardian of Scales," the girl finished, and the circle let out a burst of light. When it became dark again, there was fog in the air and a servant in the circle's center. The man couldn't tell the servant's gender, as its head appeared to be covered by a hood. As the fog cleared, he noticed that no, the servant's head wasn't covered by a hood, it was missing entirely! Where the head should have been, there was a dark blue conical hat, like a wizard in old movies would wear, decorated with stars and moons. His cloak was crimson, with a simple rope belt.

"What," the man questioned, "is this?" The servant held something long and thin up, and a drop of liquid fell from it. A figure appeared where the drop fell, as tall and wide as a man, but certainly not human, looking more like some sort of demonic sea creature made entirely of blackness. If the man wasn't so angry at the servant's likely class, he may have liked it.

"Hello," came a deep, dark voice, it came from the creature, but the man knew that the words did not belong to it. "Pardon my familiar, but in my current state, I can not speak without a mouthpiece," the servant continued, the words coming out of its creature, as it's tentacles vibrated, "I am Caster." The man snarled, he knew it! He slapped the girl, hard.

"Stupid bitch!" he roared, "I brought you in to summon a saber for me! Where is my saber?!" A creaking sound came from the doorway to the basement, and the man turned to look. A figure stood in the doorway, with a daito in his left hand, with a shoto on his belt.

"Here is your saber, master," the figure hissed, spitting the final word like it left a bad taste in his mouth, "and he does not appreciate the actions you have undertaken on this night."

* * *

New York, New York

Eliza was laying on the couch daydreaming, another book she would never let her brother see sitting on her chest, when there was a knock on the door. Without her even answering, her brother called from outside, "Hey Liz, I've got something cool to show you! Come on out!"

"What is it!?" she yelled back.

"You'll see!" he called, "just come out!" She, relented, hiding her book under a pillow and walked out. "Check it," August said excitedly, he had his guitar linked up to the television, which was displaying colored bars.

"Ok, so," Eliza questioned, "why is this cool?"

"Hold on," August responded, and he played a few chords. As he played, the colored bars jumped up and down, and Eliza realized something.

"Six bars…" she began, before being interrupted.

"Yeah, each one corresponds to a string," August explained, "and when the string is vibrating, depending on how strong the vibration is, the bar will be higher.

"Ok, so…" Eliza responded, "cool, but not interrupt my reading time, cool."

"Imagine this," August gestured at the screen, "on a big screen at a concert."

"Hmmm…" Eliza thought aloud, "that would make a pretty cool background."

"I know right," August smiled, "sit down, I'll show you." He walked over to the light switch and flicked it off, leaving the room dark except for the television. He started playing, and the bars jumped around behind him. Eliza sat there for a while, simply enjoying the music until finally, August reached the end. As he strummed the last note, White sparks shot from his guitar.

"Didn't know there would be pyrotechnics," Eliza said.

"Neither did- Eliza look out!" August yelled, grabbing his sister and pulling her towards him. Where the white sparks hit the floor, it had caught on fire! The fire blazed and spread, taking over a significant portion of the floor, creating a patch of white flames as tall as Eliza.

"Holy shit!" August yelled. The two huddled together, pushing against the wall, away from the blaze.

"How do we get out?" Eliza questioned.

"It hasn't spread to the couch yet," August replied, "we can get to it, jump off, and run to the door. You first."

"Hold on," Eliza replied.

"We really don't have time for that," August stated.

"This is white fire, meaning we should already be cooked," Eliza replied, "so why doesn't it even feel uncomfortable?" At that, August realized she was right, the heat wasn't even uncomfortable, it was like sitting by a campfire, not what you'd expect from a fire of that size or intensity. "I think…" Eliza began, as she reached her hand towards the flames, "this may be-" but she was interrupted as a piece of the flames blew onto her outstretched hand, and it began to spread.

"Eliza!" August cried.

"It doesn't burn," Eliza replied, "why doesn't it-" and that was when the whole world flashed white. When August could see again, the room was filled with smoke.

"Eliza!" he cried out, wanting to know if his sister was safe.

"I'm ok," came Eliza's voice, and he noticed her standing right next to him, "but look, the fire!" August looked at the fire, or more accurately, where it had been. Where the fire had stood, there was a figure. As the smoke cleared, August saw that the figure was a little shorter than he was, and dressed entirely in loose-fitting white clothes, with a white, long-snouted animal mask over its face.

"Who the Hell are you!?" August yelled out, getting between the newcomer and his sister.

"Hello," greeted the figure, in a definitely masculine voice. He removed his mask to reveal stark white hair, and a handsome, though rather pale, face, with green line tattoos under his left eye. "I am Rider," the young man said, "which one of you is my master?"

* * *

Fuyuki, Japan

Janet stood in the bare room, grumbling. She kicked the trash can again, but the metal mesh simply bent and returned to its normal shape. "Stupid mommy!" she yelled, "stupid Mr. Topper!" She kicked the wall. She didn't want to move to Japan, but here they were, a new house, larger than her old house, but much colder and barer. At least she had one thing to be happy about, she was still with daddy. The judge had asked her who she wanted to go with, and she had demanded to not be separated from her daddy. But she had still lost all her old friends.

"Don't worry," daddy had told her, "you'll love Japan, it's where I grew up." He told her about the cherry blossoms, and about how safe it was, and how she could go out to play every day after school. He told her that the Japanese loved American culture, and she'd make so many friends just because she was from America. Daddy seemed so happy, but she could see he was sad about the divorce. That just reminded her how much she hated her mommy, no, her ex-mommy, like daddy's ex-wife, and Mr. Topper, daddy's ex-boss. They were... they were… pig porks! She kicked the wall again and fell down crying.

"It's not fair!" she cried "it's not fair! I miss my friends! I hate Japan!" She kept crying. No one could hear her, daddy was outside talking to the movers, and there was no one else in the house. "I wish we could just go back home!"

Black light suddenly glowed on her hand, and on the floor in front of her. She stated transfixed as a black circle appeared on the bare ground, and it pulsed brighter and brighter. The lights in the room flickered, and suddenly, they died. Just as suddenly, the lights turned back on. A man stood where the circle had been, in a cloud of mist. The mist cleared, Janet backed up. The man wore a dark hooded cloak. Underneath it was an outfit she had often seen her daddy wear, a dark coat, and pants over a white dress shirt, but it had other parts she had never seen from her daddy. The man had chains hanging from his cloak, jacket, and pants, with chains wrapped around his body a look she had only seen in cartoons, from… "Ghost!" Janet screamed and scurried away.

"Oh please," the figure said, "ghosts aren't real." The figure removed it's hood, revealing dark, curly hair, and dark, intense eyes. "So," the figure continued, "I am-" but he was interrupted by a yell from outside.

"Jann!?" her daddy yelled, "are you ok honey?!"

"Hello, I'm Assassin," the man in the cloak said rushedly "I'm sure you have a lot of questions, and I'll be happy to answer them, but I need a moment." He then disappeared silently.

"Jann!?" her daddy called down again.

"I-I'm ok daddy," she responded, startled by the not-ghost "I saw a ghost!"

"Are you sure?!" her daddy called back, "is it still there?!"

"No, he left!" Janet responded.

"Ok, well if he comes back, tell me!" her daddy responded, "I'll show him no one messes with my little girl." Janet sat there for a little while longer, before she noticed her hand. On the back, where it had glowed, there was a symbol of three chain links, each linked together. She was startled, but then her father called back to her. "Honey," he called, "can you come out, there's someone you should meet." Janet came out of her bare room, to see a man talking to her daddy. The man turned to face her, and she saw he had dark, curly hair, and dark, intense eyes. "Jann," her father addressed her, "this is Mr. Rosenbelle, our new neighbor. He offered to help us move in."

"Hello," said the man who called himself Assassin, "I'm sure you have a lot of questions, and I'll be happy to answer them."

* * *

New Haven, Connecticut

Loki sat in his room, outlining the latest chapter in his law book. It was boring, but it definitely helped his grades. Instrumental rock music played on his phone. Classical may be better for studying, but rock was certainly more exciting. He turned to the next page, and his timer went off. "Finally," he sighed, and got up, "break time." He walked over to his computer and pulled up Steam. He had an hour to screw around before he got back to work, he was going to enjoy it. Logging into his favorite game, a nice roguelike dungeon crawler, he let himself relax. He warped to a challenge dungeon he had uncovered the map to yesterday and started killing and looting. Soon enough though, his hour was up. Having fortunately beaten the dungeon, and identified his new loot, which happily contained a nice frost gem, he got up. He noticed a light in the corner of his eye, which was strange, he mostly kept the lights off in the morning. Turning to the source, he noticed something else odd. It wasn't a window or a light, it came from his desk. He walked over and realized what it was.

A single card glowed bright gold on his desk. The back said, "World of Legends" on it, a game that was surprisingly, still going strong. He picked the card up, he'd gotten it seven years ago, but it felt like a different lifetime. The card glowed brighter, and the light spread to his hand. A pattern glowed there. It resembled a hollowed-out ace of spades, divided into two pieces, with the point near his knuckles, and the back near his wrist. Between them was an ace of diamonds. Looking passed the card, he saw that the gold light was glowing on the ground around him. It resembled the summoning circle on the card. "Well then, oh champion," Loki said, "answer the call of the card, reveal yourself." The room flashed with a bright golden light, and a warmth flowed through Loki's entire body. In the middle of the circle, there was a figure surrounded by fog. Before the fog could even clear, the figure shifted. Loki couldn't fully tell what had changed, but something was definitely different about them. The fog cleared, and before Loki, stood a young man about his age. His hair shone like threads of gold. His red eyes blazed with confidence. He wore a simple white dress shirt under a dark blue unzipped jacket with red highlights, with dark blue pants and simple black sneakers. A golden band decorated each of his wrists.

"Good choice, boss," The golden blond smirked, as he ran his hand through his hair, "with me as your summon, the grail will be ours as soon as I feel like it."

* * *

A/N

Holy sh*t, I just actually wrote a story, or rather the start of one, and submitted it for other people to see. This is equally cool and terrifying. So… I hope you enjoyed reading, feel free to leave a comment including thoughts and criticisms. Also, for everyone who wants to guess who each of the servants is, or put other theories, have fun, but I won't confirm or deny any of your theories until they actually come up. See you all again when chapter two goes up.


	2. Episode 2: Arrival of Champions

**Episode 2: Arrival of Champions**

* * *

"I'm sorry," Loki replied, "you're going to have to explain a few things, namely 'summon' and 'grail'."

"Oh right," the blond replied, "you're new." "So, the proper term is actually 'servant' not summon, but you are not calling me that," the blond replied, having moved to lie on Loki's couch, "and as for The Grail, it's called The Holy Grail, but that's honestly bullshit. It's naturally magical in origin, not divine, and it's definitely not the Holy Grail you're thinking of, though it would make one damn awesome soda cup. You see, every once in a while, a bunch of mages get together and they summon servants, then the servants and mages fight to the death and the winner gets to make a wish on the magic cup."

"How have I never heard about this before?" Loki questioned.

"Well, there's a big rule about not letting muggles… what the hell is that word, you folks have weird slang for non-mages, or is it a reference? What's it a reference to? Anyway, not important, I'll figure it out later, there's a big rule against letting non-mages learn about magic," the blond continued, "but you're a mage now, so you can learn about all the crazy-ass murder!"

"Ok…?" Loki replied. "And what should I call you?"

"I have many names," the blond replied, making his voice deep and dramatic before switching back to his normal speech, "but you should just call me by my class, Berserker."

* * *

Kushiro, Japan

"Ok, start talking," Ross ordered the young man, "the fuck is Lancer, the fuck is Caster, and the fuck are you?"

"You cuss too much," Lancer replied, "and as for your questions, I am a servant, a figure from history, myth, and legend summoned to aid a mage in the grail war as they fight to have their wish granted by the holy grail. Lancer is not my true name, it and Caster are class titles, used to denote a servant's capabilities. We prefer to be called by our classes, as to reveal our true name is to court disaster."

"Ok, I now have even more questions," Ross replied, "you know what, I'll stick to one at a time. Why would it be so dangerous to reveal your real name? Does it give them the power to order you around?"

"No, those do," Lancer said, gesturing to Ross's hand.

"These?" Ross responded, tapping the new red mark on his hand.

"Yes, they're called command seals," Lancer explained, "they give masters the power to control their servants, but you only have three, so use them sparingly."

"Ok then, I'll keep them in mind," Ross responded, rubbing his suddenly much more important new tattoo. "Anyway, what's the issue with using your real name then?"

"Well that's simple, it could reveal our weaknesses," Lancer explained, "say a master summoned Achilles; if the others knew who he was, then they would automatically target his heel, so it's best they stay none the wiser."'

"Wait," Ross replied, "Achilles?! Like the Greek hero guy?! That Achilles?"

"Yes," Lancer replied, "I did say servants were figures from history, myth, and legend."

"Yeah, but you said it with a whole bunch of other stuff!" Ross countered. The two sat there a bit, Ross doing his best to process everything he had just been told, when a thought occurred to him. "Hey, wait," he said, "if all servants are famous people, who are you."

"As I said, I'd prefer not to say," Lancer replied.

"How come?" Ross questioned, "I'm your master, I'm not gonna use your weaknesses against you."

"It's not that," Lancer replied, "you just strike me as a person who isn't particularly good at keeping secrets."

* * *

Fuyuki, Japan

"Can I ask my questions now?" Janet asked the man who called himself Assassin. They had finished bringing the moving boxes inside and her daddy was inside unpacking them and placing the contents where they belonged.

"Certainly," he responded, "where would you like to begin?"

"What does assassin mean?" she questioned.

"Well assassin is my class," Assassin replied.

"Like a class in school?" she replied.

"No, but you know, that would be interesting," Assassin mused, "a classroom of assassins… but nevertheless, no. Class refers to a typing, a description of one's abilities."

"What class am I?" Janet asked.

"Oh no, not everyone has a class," Assassin clarified, "only servants."

"Servants? Like maids and butlers?" Janet asked, "are you a butler? Is that why you're wearing a suit? Are all butlers assassins?"

"If mystery novel writers are to be believed, yes," Assassin replied, "but that isn't what I meant by servants. Servants, by the definition I am using, are mystical spirits summoned by mages in order to fight each other."

"Spirits?" Janet replied, "you mean ghosts?"

"There are no such thing as ghosts," Assassin replied, "spirits as in sapient beings made of magic and held together by more magic. In truth, it's very complicated, and we should get back to your original question. The members of the assassin class are experts in espionage. We are excellent at concealment, as well as entering and exiting places without the owner's knowledge… why are you looking at me like that?" Janet was looking up at him with a starry-eyed expression.

"You're a super spy?" Janet asked him, amazement clear in her voice.

"Sure," Assassin replied, "let's go with that."

"So what are the other classes?" she asked.

"Well, there are seven in total. Let's start with Caster," Assassin replied. "Casters are normally physically weak, but they are capable of very strong magic."

"Daddy said people who do magic are really just doing illusions," Janet replied, "but I should still appreciate the illusions."

"Your father is a good dad," Assassin complimented, "not lying to you about that."

"Yup!" Janet replied, "He says I should look at things scientifically."

"I'm liking him even more," he replied, "but a caster's magic is very real, and dangerous."

"So what's next?" Janet asked.

"Well, next is Rider," Assassin continued. "Riders… well, they ride things. Boats, animals… other things you are too young to be told about."

"So riders are like pirates?" Janet asked.

"In a gross oversimplification," Assassin replied, "certainly. They are normally the most mobile class, as their mount lets them travel faster than the rest of us, but don't worry, I can keep up."

"Using your super-secret spy stuff?" Janet asked, wide-eyed.

"Yes," Assassin chuckled, "using my super-secret spy stuff. Anyway, next is Saber. Sabers are all swordsman, and probably the most powerful class; they have a good mix of physical strength and powerful abilities to back them up."

"So they're… knights?" Janet asked.

"Yes, exactly," Assassin responded, patting Janet on the head, "they are a member of the three classes known as the 'Knight Classes'. Another 'knight class' is Lancer. Lancers use long, sharpened staffs, and they tend to be pretty fast."

"What is the last 'knight class'?" Janet asked, "and what's the other class?"

"The final knight class is Archer," Assassin replied. "Don't be fooled, they rarely use bows. It is basically applied to anyone who uses any form of ranged weaponry, even just throwing things at people. But the final class is easily the most terrifying. They are the Berserker class, hulking, mindless brutes that have no thoughts except violence."

"So they're like…" Janet stood up, put her hands over her head, and let out a little "roar!" Assassin fell down laughing.

"Yes," Assassin laughed, "exactly." He proceeded to get up and roar as well.

"You two seem to be having fun," came a voice from nearby. Janet saw her daddy walk out of the house, three glasses in his hands. He walked over to the table the two were sitting at and began to place down a glass before each of them. "I made some lemonade for everyone."

"Thank you, Henry," Assassin replied, nodding to her daddy, "I must say, Janet is a very smart girl. She definitely seems to take after her father."

"You're too kind, Erik," her daddy responded. "Say, I'm probably going to need to go out and buy some groceries tomorrow. Would you mind showing Janet around the city while I'm out shopping?"

"I'd be happy to," Assassin replied, and then he turned to her. "Janet, would you be ok taking a tour of the city with me?"

"Yup!" Janet replied, nodding her head.

"Well then it's settled," Assassin replied. "I'm looking forward to tomorrow."

* * *

New York, New York

"Ok, back up," August replied, moving between the man and white and his sister, "who are you, and how did you get in here?"

"The first is unimportant, I am but a footnote in another's story. The second is simple, I was summoned here," the man replied,."May I ask a question? Which of you summoned me? I feel mana coming from where you are, but you are too close. I can't tell which one of you it is."

"Wait, mana?" Eliza asked, "as in magic energy?"

"Ah yes, everyone is new," the man replied. "Real quick, magic is real, you two now have it, and I exist by drawing partially off it."

"Ok," August replied, "I want proof."

"I just appeared in your house, what more do you need?" the man replied. "You know what? How's this." He held his left hand in the air, and fire blazed in his hand. The flames spun in his palm and drifted onto the floor, before climbing up into a towering flame. August backed up, but the flames spun out, revealing a flaming figure, with a fiery guitar.

"Ok, proof accepted," August replied, "that's pretty cool."

"Hold on…" Eliza muttered, looking closely at the fiery figure, before her eyes shot open in surprise. "August!" she exclaimed, "it's you!"

August looked closely at the figure. She was right, while it was a bit hard to tell as the flickering flames made little details hard to distinguish, but he could definitely see the general shape of his own body, and the guitar was a dead giveaway. "Ok," August replied, "officially upgraded to really cool."

"It's a minor enchantment," the man replied. "I call it Faux Fire. It's nothing truly impressive. There are so many more impressive people."

"So… now that that's satisfied," Eliza interjected, "how about a little more about mana?"

"Right," August added, "you said you're drawing on our magic. Is it like some sort of vampire thing, or…"

"So, I am what is called a servant," the man replied. "Essentially, I'm a memory of a person who made an imprint on the world, given physical form by your mana. While I am technically draining the power from you, it's not to any extent where it would hurt you, unless I overexert myself as well."

"Can I get a visual aid?" August asked.

"I suppose my Faux Fire is a good example," the man replied. "I take my memories of a person, and use my mana to form the flames that give it a physical form. As long as it exists, it will drain a portion of my mana, but it doesn't really harm me for it to do so."

"So, what did you mean by "master" then?" Eliza asked.

"As I said, I am a servant," the man replied. "I was called into this world by a master to aid them. Normally, I would be able to tell the identity of my master by who is providing me with mana, but as you both are, I need clarification."

"So, how would we know?" August asked. "I don't feel like a master, but I also don't feel like I'm giving off mana, so…"

"Look at your hands," the man replied. "If you're the master, you should find a symbol on one of them."

"Found it!" Eliza exclaimed, holding up her right hand to reveal a red mark. It was a hollowed-out circle, split into three portions, with flame-like marks coming off each one. "So," she questioned, "what does it mean to be the master?"

"Well…" the man hesitantly replied, "it means quite a bit. I'll start with the bad news."

* * *

London, England

"So, this 'Holy Grail War' you mentioned," Victor began to ask, placing several of his guns in a secure container.

"Not a true war, sadly," Archer replied. "It's more of a battle royale. Last one standing gets the grail."

"Ah, too bad I can't bring some of these with us then." Victor replied, "They'd probably make this much easier."

"Don't worry, I can restock you once we get there," Archer replied. "Arms are a specialty of mine."

"I can see that," Victor replied, looking over at Archer's sword and bow, "but I can't see how those things will stand up to guns."

"They've served me well against more modern weapons in the past," Archer replied, stroking his sword as if it were a treasured pet, "and besides, they're Noble Phantasms now."

"What?" Victor questioned.

"Ah, right," Archer recalled, "you were going along so well I almost forgot you weren't naturally a mage. A noble phantasm is a very powerful… thing a servant has that connects to their legend. For instance, my bow and sword were closely linked to my legend, so, as a servant, they are once more with me, now empowered in regards to how they were used."

"So. they're a servant's weapon?" Victor replied, questioningly.

"Not always," Archer replied. "Due to who I am, my noble phantasms are most concerned with kicking everyone else's collective asses in incredibly badass ways, but another servant could have a noble phantasm based on some clothing or jewelry, a famous pet, or even a skill or accomplishment. It truly depends on what is most important to the servant's legend."

"Well that's good then," Victor replied. "Good to see I got someone I can understand. I don't know what I'd do with some lousy servant with some kind of pansy-ass noble phantasm based on jewelry. Weapons, now those I get."

"I agree," Archer replied, "and I'd hate to get some pansy-ass master who wants to play it safe. Damn good to see I've got a proper fighter, makes me glad I didn't get a natural mage."

"Hey, you're saying 'natural mage' an awful lot, but I ain't any type of mage," Vic replied. "I'm a soldier, plain and simple. I didn't even believe in magic until you showed up."

"Ah, well it's a little odd thing that happens," Archer explained. "You see, when the grail doesn't get its requested number of participants, a nice seven, it picks out some normal folks, but normal folks ain't got the mana to keep the servants they got running, so it patches you up with the magic circuits you need and even tosses in some nifty magic abilities to keep you from dying too quickly."

"Well damn, then this'll be even more fun than I thought!" Vic exclaimed. "I get to try out some new weapons!"

"Here's hoping there's someone worth trying them on," Archer replied.

* * *

Shanghai, China

"Ok, now I get why we didn't just fly there," Scott said, stretching out as the three finally got off their plane, a small duffle bag in his hands. "That was too long to be on a plane for."

"About 15 hours and 17 minutes," Loki replied, black backpack draped over one shoulder. "Perhaps I shouldn't have gone with a direct trip."

Berserker ignored the other two. The straps of his red backpack flapped about as he made a mad dash to the nearest window. He pressed his face to the glass and stared outside. The massive, towering skyscrapers were foreign to him, but he already adored the bright lights and bustling people he could see outside. "Hello Shanghai!" he shouted out. "I have arrived!"

He peeled his face off the window and looked around the airport. Surprisingly, he had caught the attention of very few people. The rest seemed to be busily walking to the baggage claim, though for some, he could tell were intentionally ignoring him. He noticed Loki and Scott walking towards him, and turned around to greet them.

"What did you say?" Scout asked him.

"Hello Shanghai?" He replied. "Why?"

"You said it in Chinese," Loki stated.

"Oh yeah, that would make sense," Berserker replied.

"How?" Scott said.

"Well, you know how I'm a really old famous person?" Berserker asked. The others nodded. "Well, did you really think that you luckily stumbled upon one of the few who spoke English?"

"Kinda didn't think about that."

"I did."

"Then why were you so surprised, McKay?"

"I assumed that the summoned hero would immediately learn the primary language of their summoner."

"Pretty close there," Berserker replied, "but we get all the languages, not just our summoner's. You might find me switching to other languages when I get excited."

"Interesting," Loki replied. "Then I suppose you'll be helping to interpret for us in Fuyuki?"

"Already planning on it."

"Good, now come on, we need to head to the baggage claim," Loki said, as he began to walk. The others followed.

"Great, so speaking of Fuyuki, what's the plan to get there?" Scott questioned. "I mean, better to scope out the area and get an idea of what we should do."

"I already told you, we're taking a ferry," Loki replied. "Though I'm surprised you believed us."

"After what Zerker did back at Newport," Scott stated, "I'd be willing to believe he was from Neptune. Besides, I don't think you have the creativity to come up with something that bonkers. If you wanted me to believe you, you would have gone with a more reasonable lie," he continued, "and if you just wanted me to come to Japan with you, all you'd need to say was, 'want to go to Japan?'."

"I suppose that's reasonable," Loki replied, as the three walked down the steps. "Berserker, do you have any idea of what's ahead?"

"Besides what I've told you, not much," Berserker replied. "I only know the classes that we'll face, not the people who will fill them. We could be looking at anyone from Utnapishtim to Neil Armstrong. Not to mention, they may be very different from what you'd expect. A famous conqueror might be addicted to video games, emperors might want to be pop-stars, kings renowned for their wisdom might be skirt-chasing idiots, and mythical gods might be whiny little children, and don't even get me started on appearances."

Scott stared at Berserker in confusion

"Any tactical advice?" Loki continued.

"Morally, I'd say attack the servants, but tactically, the masters tend to be easier targets, and killing them normally gets rid of the servants." Berserker said. "Alliances are rare, but not unheard of. There are only 7 teams, so if we do make an alliance, form it early, and don't get attached, as you'll have to turn on each other soon enough."

"Sounds fun," Scott replied.

They reached the baggage claim area. Once they took their bags from the carousel, they began to walk toward the exit.

"Ok," Loki said, checking his phone, "we need to get a taxi to the ferry office to get our tickets. Fortunately, the ferry should take us right to Fuyuki."

"And the unfortunate part?"

"It's almost a two day trip."

"So we'll probably arrive last, giving us no setup time."

"Well, the good news is," Berserker countered, "you really don't need prep time when you have me."

"I'd prefer to have both," Loki stated.

"Well, too late for that now," Scott said, "And besides, wasn't the ferry trip your idea?"

"It… it's a personal thing," Loki replied.

"Nothing wrong with that," Berserker replied. "Come on, you've got the address?"

"Yes," Loki replied, as they stepped outside. He handed the phone to Berserker. "My Chinese is a bit rusty, so please read the address so you can tell the cab driver where it is if he can't understand me."

"Sure thing, boss."

They hailed a taxi, and despite Loki's supposedly rusty Chinese, the driver was able to understand him just fine. Upon arriving, they walked up the steps to the office.

"Hello, we'd like three tickets to the Shanghai-Fuyuki ferry," Loki told the woman at the front desk.

"I'll need your passports," the woman responded.

"She needs our passports," Loki translated for Scott.

"Thanks," Scott replied, as Berserker and he stood up, fishing around in their pockets. Scott and Loki placed their passports on the counter. Berserker instead placed down something that looked like a playing card with a red design, which began to faintly glow when it was put next to the passports. The woman picked up all three and walked away to scan them.

"You sure this will work?" Scott whispered in Loki's ear.

"It worked at the airport," Loki whispered back.

The woman returned and handed the passports and card back. "Thank you," She said, and turned back to Loki. "Which class of room would you like?" she said, while pointing their attention to a list.

"Lowest price one seems good to you guys?" Loki asked the others.

"Sure thing."

"No problem."

"We'll take the lowest cost rooms, please," Loki said to the woman.

"That will be 54000 Yen."

"Do you take USD?"

"Yes, just swipe your card."

Loki did, and the woman handed them three tickets. "The address is on the tickets. Check-in starts at 11:00 am."

"Thank you," Loki replied, as took the tickets and turned to leave, "have a good day."

"You as well."

The three stepped out the door.

"So what now?" Scott asked.

"We get another taxi," Loki replied.

* * *

Fuyuki, Japan

"Well that was painless," Eliza said, as she and August stepped out of the airport, each with a backpack on their back, pulling a bag of luggage behind them. Eliza held a small, plastic container in her other hand.

"Speak for yourself," August said, bending his neck to the side. "I should know by now not to sleep on airplanes. Speaking of which, you should probably let the cat out of the bag."

"Oh, right, yeah," Eliza said. She kneeled over and placed the cat carrier she was holding on the ground. She undid the latch and opened the little cage. "You can come out now, Rider."

Out of the carrier came a snowy white cat, which immediately began stretching itself out. Once it was finished, it transformed into an equally pale young man, with white hair, and loose-fitting white clothes.

"I said it before, and I'll say it again," August said, "shapeshifting is a cool power."

"Thank you, but it's hardly an original one," Rider replied. "That said, it certainly helps when you lack an ID, but still need to get on an airplane."

"Speaking of shapeshifting," Eliza said, "do you think you can shift into more modern clothing? No offense, but you stick out like a sore thumb."

"Yes, I suppose I likely do," Rider replied. He closed his eyes, before his form shifted. Instead of his normal outfit, Rider wore a light grey vest over a white long-sleeved, button-down shirt, which was tucked into light grey pants, and finished with charcoal grey shoes.

"How's this?" Rider asked.

"Well… closer to modern," August replied. "You won't stick out quite as much."

"Good," Rider said, "then our next order of business is to head to the hotel and unpack."

"So when does the war start?" Eliza asked.

"Technically, it already started," Rider said. "It started the moment that all the servants were summoned, but we shouldn't have to worry about a fight just yet. The war won't properly start until some idiot decides to make his presence known and start a fight. That won't be us."

"Well then," August said, "let's get unpacked."

* * *

Fuyuki, Japan

"So, what's our plan?" Ross asked.

He and Lancer were in his new apartment. He was sitting on his bed, while Lancer sat cross-legged on the floor.

"Well, the plan is to avoid everyone else for as long as possible," Lancer replied. "We'll let the other servants fight, while we focus on avoiding direct confrontation and I use my abilities to hinder the others."

"But don't you need close range to fight as lancer?"

"As I've said, my powers are more fitting for a caster," Lancer stated. "Remote combat should be fine."

"So then… we're just going to hang out here for most of the war?"

"I think I'd like to spend as little time here as possible, really."

"Ok, that I can agree with. Let's head out."

He got up, and Lancer followed. As the two walked out the door, Ross turned to his companion.

"Hey Lancer, what food do you like?"

"Servants don't actually need to eat, but I have always enjoyed Mediterranean food."

"Cool. Hey, do servants need to sleep?"

"Somewhat, but less than humans do. It helps us recover mana. Also, before you ask, yes, we have to breathe."

"I thought so, but back to food, I'm guessing eating still feels good."

"You'd be correct."

"Well then, time for Mediterranean."

* * *

Fuyuki, Japan

"Well, I'm off to get groceries," Henry called out. "Look after Jann for me, Erik."

"Will do," Assassin replied, as he heard the door close behind his friend.

The girl in question was currently asleep. Assassin looked at the clock on the wall. It was 10:00 AM. "I suppose I should wake her up," he said to himself, as he stood up, placing the newspaper he had been reading down.

He walked over to Janet's room. While the young girl was his master, he had to admit he had trouble seeing her that way sometimes. She was simply too innocent.

He knocked on her door and was greeted with no response. He opened the door and stuck his head in. "Janet? It's time to wake up," he said. He heard a faint whining coming from the bed. "Good morning," he said.

"Why do I have to wake up so early in Japan?" Janet whined.

"You're still jet-lagged," Assassin said. "It's already 10 here."

"It's 10 too soon."

"If it helps, there are some pancakes leftover from your dad and my breakfast."

With that, Janet was up. "Dad's pancakes are the best!" she cheered, as she pushed the covers back. She was wearing yellow feety pajamas, decorated with little green cat faces, and her dark brown hair was messy.

"He'd be glad to hear you said so," Assassin replied. "Now, go brush your hair and get changed while I heat them up."

"Ok!"

By the time Janet came into the kitchen, Assassin had had the time to heat up the pancakes, get the maple syrup out, and pour a glass of orange juice. Janet walked in with her hair brushed and in pigtails, and she was wearing a white shirt and a black skirt.

"I didn't realize you could do your own pigtails," Assassin said.

"I had to learn because daddy was out sometimes and mo-my mother wouldn't help."

"Well then, you're a very self-reliant young lady."

"Yup! What's self-reliant mean?"

Assassin chuckled. "It means you can take care of yourself."

"Then double yup! Can I get an extra pancake for being self-reliant?"

"No, but you can have a little extra orange juice."

"Yay!"

Janet climbed up to her seat and began to dig in to her pancakes, while Assassin grabbed the newspaper he had been reading earlier. No mysterious disappearances, no unexplained lights, no strange sightings, no evidence any other servants had begun making their move, yet he remained tense. The Grail War was going to start soon. The lack of any evidence told him only that the other servants were either biding their time, or much more subtle than he had anticipated. He looked back over at Janet, happily eating her pancakes. She was too innocent to be a master. "Look after Jann for me," her father had said. That was his duty, that was his purpose. He would protect his master.

"All done!" Janet said, snapping Assassin from his thoughts.

"What?" he asked.

"I finished my pancakes and my orange juice."

"Oh," Assassin said, he put the newspaper down and got up. He turned to the fridge. "Here, I'll get you a little more juice." He spent the short walk getting his mind back to his previous, happy mood. By the time he turned back to her, he was smiling again. He poured her another half glass of orange juice, which she happily gulped down.

"Looks like you're hungry," he chuckled.

"No, daddy's pancakes are just really good!" she cheered.

"Yes, they are," Assassin said.

"Assassin, can we go out today while daddy is out?"

Assassin thought for a moment. "Sure, just let me…" he began, as he grabbed a pen and a sheet of paper to write a quick note.

" _Henry_ ," the note began, " _I'm taking Janet to see more of the town. We'll be back by lunch at the latest. -sincerely, Erik_."

He placed the note down on the coffee table, where Henry would see it.

"Ok, brush your teeth and get your shoes on," Assassin said, "and then we can go."

* * *

Fuyuki, Japan

The swordsman stood in the dark room. His swords were at his sides, and black armor adorned his body. He rubbed his shoulder; the joint ached. He removed his dark helmet, revealing his stark white hair. He rubbed his right eye. It itched terribly. He placed his helmet back on and looked around. He was surrounded on all sides by inky black figures, all dressed in the same black armor he wore. He looked them all over, several were pikemen, others archers and gunners. Three or four lacked any discernible weapon, but he knew they were just as dangerous as the others. The majority were swordsmen, a third of which wielded the distinctive lengthened swords of cavalry units. Finally, five wore a distinct blue band on their right arms, over their armor, and held various weapons. The white-haired swordsman grabbed his daito from its place by his side and held it up, above his head.

"Formation!" he called out.

The figures snapped to attention. The ranged fighters took the front line, while the pikemen formed a line behind them. The swordsmen formed two rows, three people wide, cavalry in the middle. The weaponless units formed a small section behind him, bridging the gap between the rows of swordsmen. The blue-banded warriors formed a ring around him, each in position like the points of a star.

"I'll admit," the swordsman said, "your units are superb, Caster."

The blue-banded warriors all turned to him, and spoke in unison, "A compliment? Those are rare from you, Swordsman."

"I appreciate good craftsmanship," Swordsman replied, "too bad their creator is a few strokes short of a painting."

"And back to our regular snark," the warriors said.

"Silence, both of you," growled a man's voice, dark and imposing.

The units all snapped to attention. Swordsman simply grimaced. A tall man, with dark blue eyes like the ocean's depths, and hair like brambles walked into his view.

" _Master_ ," he spat. The word left a bad taste in his mouth.

"Show some respect, Swordsman," the man growled. His stolen command seals glowed faintly, but none activated. "Caster, what is the plan for the mounts for our cavalry units?"

"I'd rather make it a surprise, Master," the warriors replied, "though I think you'll like them."

"Very well," he replied. "Does this squad have any special uses?"

"No, it's a simple combat squad," the warriors replied, "written to obey you, Swordsman, and myself, in descending order. They are designed to perform along with the combat maneuvers Swordsman is skilled in commanding, have some tactical skills pre-written, and, for tactical reasons, are programmed to hold Swordsman's life high above their own." The warriors turned to Swordsman. "Be happy you're less expendable than my creations."

"Be happy your creations are so useful, I don't simply cut them all down as a training exercise."

"I'm impressed with your ferocity, Swordsman," the blue-haired man said. "Do not disappoint my impression, or you know what will happen."

"Yes _master_ ," he spat.

"Good, then remember. The moment another servants makes their location known, you are to find them and fight them. Elimination is not necessary, nor expected, but will be rewarded if you manage to accomplish it. Is that clear?"

"Yes _master_ ," he spat again. That word tasted worse than anything had ever before.

* * *

Fuyuki, Japan

The small plane skitted a little as it landed on the runway. Once it came to a complete stop, the two men in the passengers' seats unbuckled and began to get out, grabbing their luggage on the way out.

"Thanks Winston," Victor said to the pilot.

"No problem Vic," he responded. "You and your friend enjoy your vacation. Don't kill anyone."

"I'll do my best," Victor replied. "Have fun in Tokyo."

"Thanks," Winston replied. Then the engine began to roar to life, and Victor and Archer watched as the plane flew away.

"Pays to have friends with pilot licenses," Victor said.

"Certainly helps when you need to get somewhere without going through airport security."

"Yeah," Victor said, opening his luggage to remove some of the weapons he had brought. "Now we just got to check these in with customs and we'll be all set."

"I'm surprised you have a Japanese gun license."

"Visited for a presentation on the Pacific Theater a long time ago. Got a license while I was here just in case."

"Always prepared, I like that in a master."

"Speaking of prep, run our plan by me again."

"Simple. We'll get settled in today. If no one else has started the war by tonight, we'll start it. In the meantime, get the guns checked in, we'll head to the apartment, and probably buy some food. Nothing wrong with getting comfortable."

"Sounds about right. And if someone starts the war, we'll be there to meet them."

"There's another thing I like in a master."

* * *

Fuyuki, Japan

It was about 11:00 in the morning when they arrived at Fuyuki. The ferry docked, and the captain called out that they had arrived. Scott was stirred from his sleep, and Loki from his reading, but Berserker wasn't even in the cabin. He was on the deck, excitedly leaning on the rails, staring out at the city that awaited them. The others joined him on deck, Scott still wiping the sleep from is eyes, while Loki held his book in hand.

"So this is Fuyuki," Loki said, looking out at their destination. "I like the bridge."

"This is where it's all going to happen," Berserker said. "We're going to meet all the new servants, and then we'll fight, and then we'll get the Holy Grail. Hey, do you ever wonder why they decided to make it the Holy Grail? The grail didn't grant wishes, well, unless your wish was immortality, but I think many people's wishes would be immortality, I can get behind that, but maybe it should have been a lamp? Like in Aladdin, maybe with a genie inside. Maybe the genie would be blue. Wait, why would a genie be blue, aren't they fire creatures or something? Ah, never mind, it's not a lamp anyway so-"

"As your master, I order you take a second to breathe," Loki interrupted.

"Right, yeah, just excited."

Loki handed Berserker the luggage he was supposed to carry, and the three disembarked. Soon after, they found a taxi, which Berserker directed to their apartment. They unloaded the luggage into the main room, and Loki and Scott began unpacking. Berserker headed to the door instead.

"You're not going to help?" Scott asked.

"You two can finish this up, I've got things to do, people to fight, Grail Wars to start with a bang. I'll report back after the first fight ends."

"And if the fight doesn't go your way?"

"Then I'll let Loki know where I am."

"There's nothing I can do to make you not do this, is there?" Loki asked.

"You could use a command seal, but you should save those for later."

"Ok then. Don't die."

"I won't. Bye!"

It had hardly been five minutes when he arrived at his destination, the Fuyuki shipping dock. He could sense… something here. It was old, but it boded well for this war. He bit his fingertip, drawing blood. With his finger, he drew a sigil on the ground which shimmered and faded. He rubbed his finger on his bicep, but it had already healed. He jumped, landing on a small perch, and closed his eyes. When they snapped open again, the war was on.

* * *

Rider knew the magic signature that had just run through Fuyuki, and he knew what it meant. It was an unmistakable invitation, a call to begin that all of Fuyuki could feel.

"What was that?" Eliza asked.

"It's something personal. Go back to the hotel," he told her.

"Rider, What's going on?" August questioned.

"Just go back to the hotel, I'll see you later, but I've got to go."

"Ok, just stay safe," Eliza said.

"I will."

The siblings began walking back to their hotel, while Rider began running to the dock. They were fortunately nearby. He could see the distinct glint of golden hair. As soon as he reached the dock, he jumped and used his hands to spring up to a catwalk. Standing across from his was a golden-haired young man who looked a couple years older than him. His red eyes blazed with confidence, and he was dressed in a simple white shirt, along with a dark blue, unzipped jacket, decorated with red highlights, and similarly dark blue pants, with black running shoes. However, it was the gold bands on his wrists and the jet black sword in his hand that drew his attention the most. That was how he knew that this was the same man who had issued the challenge.

"Long time no see!" the blond smirked. "What class were you called in as?"

"Rider," Rider replied. "You?"

"Berserker," Berserker said, "my favorite."

"Fitting," Rider said. "Now what?"

"I think it's pretty simple, really," Berserker replied.

He charged, faster than a hunting cat. Before Rider could blink, Berserker was already on him, his arms wrapped around him, crushing him.

"It's so good to see you again, little brother!" Berserker cheered, hugging Rider tight.

"Ribs," Rider squeaked out.

"Ah, sorry," Berserker replied, putting him down. "It's just been a while."

"Yeah, it really has," Rider said, returning his older brother's hug, much less fiercely.

"Let's catch up, I saw a sushi place when I arrived."

"You has me at 'raw fish.'"

* * *

A/N

So... I should start this with an apology. I'm sorry this took so long, school got in the way, but you can thank long car drives with nothing better to do than write for making this possible. Some stuff to clarify, the dock Berserker goes to is the same location of the first battle of Fate/Zero, and while I know there is a distinction between Magecraft and Magic, I figured the servants would be more likely to explain it as magic as this is already far too complex for the new mages. Now, for the Q&A portion, where I answer (Non-spoiler) Questions in my comments.

ZenoZen asks: "So it is an oc servant?"  
Most of the servants in this story are OCs, as there were some people I really thought would make cool servants. I won't say who isn't an OC, but I will say that non-OCs are still servants who we have very little information on from the canon sources, and I'm expanding on them.

Well, once more, feel free to leave comments including thoughts, questions, and criticisms. See you all again when the next chapter goes up, which I plan to be before next year.


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